


Minor Consequences

by smauglocki, WithMoreZLessH



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Charles is Q, Erik Calm Down, Erik is James Bond, Homophobia, M/M, Pining, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-29
Updated: 2016-04-29
Packaged: 2018-06-05 05:22:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6691309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smauglocki/pseuds/smauglocki, https://archiveofourown.org/users/WithMoreZLessH/pseuds/WithMoreZLessH
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rain. Bloody goddamn rain.</p><p>'Isn't Shanghai supposed to be getting into summer?' Erik thinks, wrinkling his nose at his lack of umbrella. He's willing to get blood on his hands, but not at the expense of rain on his suit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Minor Consequences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is based on our Role-Play on Twitter. You can follow the RP in the following accounts:
> 
> @magneatoisms  
> @QWithoutTheX  
> @ShadowOfASpy

It's raining. It's bloody raining cats and dogs and rats and hogs and the water's pouring on him and he's starting to get tired, sick of this cops and robbers game, wants very much to just take out his gun and shoot the guy down but the _c_ _ivilians_ , the busy ants and the lazy grasshoppers of the metropolis, they crawl and slither and hinder and — he shoves a pair of intoxicated businessmen out of his way, ducks when a lady's umbrella almost stabs his eye — and now he's lost his target. He curses, looks around, curses again. This guy he's after, this underling of Shaw's, is, much to his dismay, unmitigatedly good at disappearing — he checks his watch, wonders how long this bloody chase has been going on for, hears the all-too-familiar sound of the grunt of a shoved man and the gasp of an elbowed lady, and starts running again. His lips twitch; a common occurrence in times of irritation. He yells into the earpiece, over the sound of the thrashing rain and his pounding steps. "Q, _please_  tell me you've got the bloody fucker tracked."

Charles rushes back to his seat and sits down, looking down at the screen. Shit, Lehnsherr was going to be pissed. But luckily, the computer recorded every single move of both Lehnsherr and the guy he was after, -Azaeal? Azazel?- so Charles wasn't that much in a trouble. He clears his throat and answers. "Yes, yes Mr. Lehnsherr. I'm sending you the movements of the Russian right away." And with that, he sends the coordinates to his phone, -well, not exactly a phone, more like a technological device that Charles invented for the MI6- and takes a sip of his Earl Grey.

If he wasn't busy chasing down an assassin, Erik might've actually made a turn and planted his face into the nearest building.- " _Tell me where to go_ , Q. Pursuing a hitman, remember? Running. On the move. Can't bloody well stop to reach into my pockets for your lovely gadget. And didn't I tell you to call me 007 on the field?"

"Yes, yes sorry!" says Charles.

'Charles. He's the 007! Don't act like you're his wife!' he thinks. He shakes his head and turns his full attention to the job.

Charles continues, "Alright, you need to be faster. He's on your left, he got into the big green building. Hah. Stupid. Anyways, he's running faster. Be quick, /007/."

" _I'm running my goddamn fastest._ " Erik makes a left turn, and enters the so-called "big green building" (it wasn't that big, nor was it really 'green.' He makes a note to quip about it to Q later.). The building was empty, save for a dead guard. He looks up: the target's just got into the elevator. "He's in the lift. Do something, Q, because I sure as hell am not going up the stairs."

Charles almost rolls his eyes at his tone but quickly gets into the main system of the building, cutting off all the power and leaving them without light. "I hope you have your flashlight with you. Because I sure hell can not stop the elevator otherwise."

"The Q before you would've been able to do it." Erik reaches into his pockets for the "phone," uses it as a flashlight. Erik's mouth twitches again; the blackout will no doubt alert the police, he's got to act fast. He takes the stairs (All while growling under his breath. Bloody Q and his incompetence), careful not to make a sound. Right hand occupied by the flashlight, he slithers his left into his jacket for the Walther PPK/S, the one with the micro-dermal sensor in the grip, coded to his palm prints by no other than your friendly neighbourhood Q, and holds the handgun out in front of him, ready to pull the trigger if anything fishy were to happen. "I'm going up the stairs. Where is he now?"

Charles lowers his voice in order not to bother Lehnsherr with the sound. "He's upstairs. But you need to keep quiet. He's looking for you. He's waiting. 007, be careful. Please." He knows how Lehnsherr hates Charles being so emotional but he just can't help it sometimes. He was worried about _him_. Even though he knows he's always careful.

Erik does hate the sentiment, yet he can't help but murmur, just loud enough for the earpiece to catch. "I'm always careful."

Erik turns off the flashlight, tucks the phone back into his pocket. He's close to the top of the staircase now; the air is thick with tension, and he is on high-alert. He tilts his head, takes a glimpse of the floor above. Light. Moving light. Q's right; the hitman's looking for him. He waits. The hitman turns his back. He sprints up the stairs, shoots, misses, hits the target in the right shoulder (here, a sharp cry and the sound of a gun hitting the floor are heard), gains his balance just as the man turns around and shoots again. The bullet hits the man's left shoulder; intentional, since he's after the man for information, not to kill. He stalks closer to the fallen man, gun still held in position in front of him. The man tries to kick him twice; of course, he fails.

Erik tuts at him for the effort. "Don't make me shoot your legs too, because I will."

The man hisses at him, but stops. Erik grins; a job well done, despite earlier setbacks. He circles the man once, then steps on the wound in his right shoulder. The man groans through gritted teeth. "Now tell me. Where is Shaw?"

Charles keeps silent but listens to their moves very carefully. The mission was almost over so he sends a quick message to the pilot of the helicopter. 'Almost there. Get ready.' He inhales deeply as he hears Lehnsherr pressing harder on the guy's terrible wound, wincing slightly.

"Careful," Charles mumbles to the spy, but more to himself like a useless reassurance. He bites his bottom lip and waits.

The man answers Erik with a smirk and a badly aimed spit; it was weak, consisted of more blood than saliva, and, much to the man's luck, misses Erik's shoe. Erik's face becomes one of discontent. He leans more of his body weight into the feet planted on the man's wound. "You're making this harder than it has to be, comrade. Here, how about this: Где Шоу?"

The man grits his teeth, clenches his jaw, twitches out a smirk, and stares at Erik in mock derision with his steel blue eyes. Erik steps harder yet again, punctuating his feet with each syllable. "Где он? Where. Is. Shaw?"

There is blood seeping onto the floor now, and Erik regrets his decision for the stains on his Church's (He's going to have to make Q go shoe shopping for him again; on a second thought, perhaps this stepping-on-wound idea wasn't so bad). The man still refuses to talk, and Erik refuses to wait. He steps away and shoots the hitman in the calf. A low scream convulses out of the hitman as the bullet hits flesh and sinks into muscle; Erik watches the man's body reflexively writhe up to grab his leg and almost rolls his eyes at the man's groan when the bullets in his shoulders dig their way deeper into his shoulder blades.

"Mmm, ouch. See, that's what happens when you misbehave. Thought you'd be aware of the protocol, but. Apparently not," says Erik. He cocks his gun again, aims at exact same spot on the man's calf. "Answer the bloody question. Where is Shaw?"

Silence; trembling silence. Erik's impatience gets the better of him; he shoots again. The shot tears the man's tendons; the sight is ugly, and Erik takes a step back to avoid stepping in more blood.

"Last chance, comrade. Tell me where your boss is, and I'll spare your life. Well, maybe. 50/50. It's a chance. Take it."

The man turns his face away from Erik, and, from the way his chest is rising and falling, appears to be huffing out a laugh. Erik hears noise from downstairs, and suddenly, the lights are on and the elevator is moving again. Erik turns back towards the hitman, gun aimed at the side of his head; the man cannot be left alive. He hears footsteps coming from the stairs, his finger slides towards the trigger. The hitman turns to him with a grin, and sings, comedically, in the way men do when death is looking them in the eye, "Боже, Царя храни!" Erik shoots him in the head and the bullet fits snugly in the man's skull. He dies, leaving the next line of the song unsung. Erik rolls his shoulders back, tilts his head from side to side to stretch his neck. The police are getting closer. He returns his gun back to its place; Q would rip his head off if he lost another piece of equipment. Might as well do the man a favour to compensate for his, well, "minor" faux pas.

"Target's dead, and I've got police on my tail. Where's my ride, Q?"

Charles and the crew are all on the plane, getting closer to where the spy was waiting for them. But instead of Charles, Moneypenny answers to 007, her eyes on the poor Quartermaster. "We are on our way. Two minutes tops."

Charles was afraid of flying, something that he inherited from his alcoholic mother who died three years ago. Maybe it was because of how his father died in a horrible plane accident when Charles was only 5 years old. But he had to be on the plane all the time because he was needed. And Lehnsherr always keeps asking for him even though he knew how sick he got. 'Maybe I should tell him the story,' Charles thought as he closed his eyes and hugged his knees on his chest. Two minutes. He can do this. And as the plane landed, he finally took a deep breath but remained in the same position, still feeling woozy.

"Hullo, Moneypenny. Missed the field?" He puts on his most obnoxiously charming voice, and strolls over to press the 'up' button on the lift panel. He will not be dealing with those anfractuous set of stairs again, thank you very much. The lift stops at his floor, he enters it. Talk about perfect timing: A police officer had just arrived(panting, might he add) when he selected a floor and the door slid shut. He hears yelling, but pays it no mind. He gives the police officer a wave from above, mouthing a 'sorry.' "I'm on my way up. How's Q doing?"

"He's.. He's not well. Even the color on his face is gone. Be quick, 007. We need to go," answer Moneypenny.

Charles groans and hides his face. Deep breaths. Deep breaths. We're not flying. Calm down.

He tuts, shaking his head to no one in particular. "Poor Kätzchen. Should've stayed back in bed with your pyjamas and tea, hm?" He addresses Q, knowing he's listening to the conversation but is simply too wrecked out of his nerves to formulate any witty remarks in reply.

He reaches the top floor, leaves the lift, takes the stairs out onto the roof. The rain drops on him again once he's outside, washing some of the blood off his shoes, and he jogs over to the helicopter. The door of the aircraft opens to welcome him and he hops on, nodding at Moneypenny, eyes dancing around the aircraft for Q. He finds the Quartermaster crouched in a seat at the far end of the plane, and, satisfied, turns his attention back towards Moneypenny with a raised brow. "Am I still under M's surveillance?"

"Yes, of course," Charles replies with his weak voice, turning his head towards them. "We talked. M knows everything. But he won't like it because you killed Azazel. Oh well." And with that he turns his attention back to the floor, taking a deep breath as the plane starts to take off. "Here we go again."

He tsks, wrinkles his nose. "And I thought saving England from the hands of a sadistic, delirious genius slash ex-00 agent with an obsession with the old M would be enough for him to trust me. Evidently, I was wrong."

The helicopter makes its ascent, and Erik watches Q's face go from agitated to nervous to positively petrified. He leaves Moneypenny's side and stalks over to Q's, an ostensibly smug look on his face. "Still afraid of flying, I see."

"Let's not say 'afraid'. I just don't want to be close to planes whatsoever. But, yes. Unfortunately so. Maybe I should start taking pills. But MI6 doesn't allow me to take pills. How lovely." He groans and looks up at him. "How are you?"

"According to my evaluation, and Moneypenny's, for that matter, what you are experiencing is fear. There's no shame in being afraid, Kätzchen." He takes the seat beside Q, though makes no move to strap on the seat belt. He removes the earpiece from his ear and flicks it away. "When did my state of being become any of your concern?"

He sighs deeply and turns his fully attention to Lehnsherr, trying to ignore how high they were flying. "I'm always concerned about your wellbeing. You're a 00 agent and.. You need to be well. And I'm here to provide that at all times."

Erik raises a brow, a smirk threatening to dart across his lips. " _Always_  concerned, Q? Even when I'm not on a mission?"

"Um." He fights back the blush creeping up to his face. "Yes. Yes, of course. It is my duty to be concerned. I'm _your_  Quartermaster after all."

The agent does smirk at the Quartermaster now, and it's every bit as voracious as it sounds. "Now, now. Don't let the other agents hear that, or they'll get jealous knowing I'm your favourite."

"It's not about you being my favourite or not, Mr. Lehnsherr. I just.." And now the words were failing him. Just what? 'It's just I have a huge crush on you?' Bullshit. "I should be looking after you at all times."

"Of course, Q. Whatever you say." Erik feigns utter conviction, looking away. The disappearance of the shaking in Q's voice doesn't escape his notice, and he silently preens himself on how good of a distraction he can be. They're about to arrive at the embassy, he observes, glancing out the window. He turns back towards Q, eager to watch his facial expressions change again as the plane makes it descent. The quaint way in which Q's mind works will never cease to entertain him. He tilts his head so as to murmur a teasing quip into Q's ear. "Here we go again."

As their conversation reaches the end, once again Charles is left alone with the reality and his fears. He buries his face again and tries to keep his mind off of how high the plane was. He takes deep breaths to calm down, only to hear Lehnsherr teasing him again. How lovely. "Yes. Ugh."

The helicopter descends. Erik sits through it with nonchalance, though the same can't be said of Q. Q fidgets in his seat on the first notice of inclination, does "breathing exercises," and Erik gives up trying to conceal his lazy, lopsided, sly grin. He wonders what M would say if he told him Q had hacked into the system to change the results of his psych eval again. Erik shakes his head, amused: Q's sure to give him nerf guns for his next mission if he were to do such a thing. The helicopter touches the ground, and, already, he tastes the bitterness of having to deal with M's complaints; the sight of Q digging his fingers into the seatbelt and the cushion of the seat does solace him a bit, though. His mouth twitches at the fact. "You can stop wounding the seat now, Quartermaster. We've landed."

"Oh thank God." Charles almost jumps out of his seat, still feeling a bit woozy and nauseous but he couldn't care less. He needed a splash cold water to his face and a warm cup of Earl Grey. And maybe a chocolate muffin. Chocolate chip. Yes, exactly that. They were almost done for the day so he was going to go home and watch Person Of Interest, curled up under the blankets as Charles. Not as 'Quartermaster'. But now, he had duties so he simply followed 007 out and got inside. Moneypenny squeezed his shoulder in a friendly manner and smiled at him reassuringly. She was probably the sweetest person that Charles has ever met. She was like a best friend and he was glad that they were close. He smiles back at her and takes the little earpiece out of his ear.

Erik's told by the agent waiting for them at the door that M's waiting inside. He sighs: M waiting is never a good sign. "Must be something about you killing the target," the agent continues, handing him a towel. Erik takes it, faking surprise, like he honestly wouldn't have fucking known if the agent hadn't told him, then asks for M's whereabouts. He's given directions to a room, and he follows them. He stops once in his tracks to make sure Q and Moneypenny are following him; only once, because Moneypenny seems to know the grounds around here, and both Q and her seem to be too absorbed in their conversation to care for him, so he ignores them after that. He arrives in a waiting room, and a brunette in a purple blouse and a tight little skirt kindly asks him to wait. He does, eyeing her as she disappears into the room adjacent. Meanwhile, he silently inspects the minor injuries he's received during the mission, brushing dirt and whatnots off his suit where he can find.

Moneypenny and Q stand right behind Lehnsherr and stop chatting. M was going to be angry at 007 because of the agent's _stupid_  decisions. Charles keeps playing with his fingers, something he always does when he is nervous or anxious. And at that moment, M walks inside the room, wearing one of his dangerous looks on his face, eyes flashing with anger. Q stands still and eyes him carefully. Of course Lehnsherr was going to pass the buck on him. So he should better get ready for interrogation.

Erik stands once M enters the room, his stance a mixture of rigidity and indifference. M looks awfully sour, bitterness coming off him in waves. It makes Erik's mouth twitch. He sees, from the corner of his eye, that Moneypenny is tense. He could understand why: M is, by nature, an intimidating man, and this 'failed mission' of 007's would unsurprisingly hit one, if not many, of the man's military-trained nerve. M looks him in the eye, and he doesn't flinch. He stares back, even cocks a brow for good measure. It works: M looks away and turns towards Moneypenny, more than a little bit ticked off. Erik bites the inside of his cheek to stifle a smile.

M speaks. "Where's the mission report, Ms. Moneypenny?"

"I don't have the report yet, M. If you'll excuse me, I will prepare it," Moneypenny mumbles and exits the room quietly, leaving the three men alone.

Charles looks up at M and then Lehnsherr, watching their expressions carefully. M was about to rage at him because Erik somehow always manages to get away from these things easily. 'Well fuck,' he thinks to himself and readies himself for M's upcoming rage.

Moneypenny leaves, M's faint mumbles on the establishment's incompetence following her exit. M turns back towards 007 (and Q) and the passive-aggressive reprimanding begins. Passive, because it wouldn't be proper for M to burst out at an agent for a mistake so trivial(after all, such cases are bound to be uncommon in their business). Aggressive, because they are now seven steps further away from uncovering Hellfire Club's headquarters and Sebastian Shaw's whereabouts. 007 listens, takes in every word M aims at him, but pretends he doesn't care. He does. Of course, M is aware of this act. Q, hopefully, isn't.

"Don't make this mistake again, 007," M says, and sighs, kneading his left temple. 007 cringes. M continues, "In any case, you're grounded from field work."

007 opens his mouth to protest, M silences him with a look, and a blunt, "That will be all. You are dismissed."

M leaves the room. 007 is upset. His arms are crossed, and, with nowhere to unleash his fit of pique but Q, he glares at him. He grouches, bitterly. "Why didn't you say something?"

"It wasn't my fault that you killed the guy, was it? M's right. You shouldn't decide on these things on your own, if we are a team. If you're going to be so selfish about making decisions, then we shouldn't be there." Charles ruffles his hair in frustration. "But M talked enough. There's no need for me to scold you. Past is in the past." He takes out his phone to check the time. "Almost dinner time."

Erik frowns. Q's being a prick, as usual. All his "team" rubbish, absolute fucking nonsense. Only people who've never really been on the field would talk of such brainless stupor. "The police were catching up to me because you shut down the electricity in a bloody building. What was I to do? Leave the target to blab about the MI6's interest in the Hellfire Club?" He scoffs. Q really is too young for the job. Too naïve.

"I allowed you to monitor my mission. I kept the earpiece. I reported my actions, you authorised. You were aware of everything I was doing. But you never uttered a single word to stop me. You have no right to call me selfish, Q. You're just as guilty as I am," Erik says, wrinkling his nose and reaching into his pockets for a cigarette. Dealing with idiocy always makes him want to set something on fire. Unfortunately, pyromania is frowned upon in society, so his lungs will have to do for now. He sighs when he cannot locate his pack of cigarettes and drops his hands down, his shoulders drooped in a position of defeat. He rolls his neck. The adrenaline's died down, and he's tired. "The only difference is I'm punished and you're not. So. Post hoc ergo propter hoc: You owe me dinner and a bottle of champagne."

"You know I _had_  to shut down the power so you can catch him easily. And we both know you wouldn't listen to me. You'd already made up your mind about killing him so what was I to say?" Charles groans and leaves the room with Lehnsherr, tilting his head to look at him. "Alright then. Let's have dinner. No need to get stressed out."

Erik raises a brow at the Quartermaster. "I'm not stressed out. I'm tired."

"Right. Tired then," Charles sighs and looks at Erik for a second, all of his anger fading away. How could he even stay angry at him? Impossible. "If you're feeling tired, we don't have to go now. We can do this later, I won't forget about it, promise."

"No. We're going now. I need a drink. Or two. Or maybe more," Erik hums. "I'm opting for maybe more."

"Alright then. You lead the way. You must know some classy places around here, am I right?" says Charles, following him.

"That would depend entirely on what you'd call 'classy,'" says Erik.

"Like, Bond classy," Charles teases and smirks smugly.

Erik snorts. "Don't be ridiculous. Somewhere close by will do — for now."

"Alright then. There's a pub close by, it's not worthy of your taste, but it's really quite good. We can go there."

Erik doesn't smile, per se, but does something similar to it. He gestures towards the exit. "Lead the way, Quartermaster."

Charles nods and walks out of the embassy, adjusting his glasses on the way out and trying not to grin like a loon. They're going out for a drink! Charles feels like he's fifteen again.


End file.
